


Shorthand

by define_serenity



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Angst, College, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Forgiveness, Handcuffs, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Secret Identity, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3584316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of Thallen drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You came back

His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when he hears the door open, close, Eddie’s distinctive tread on the floorboards.

“You came back,” he breathes a sigh of relief, though he’s taken up a vulnerable position that has left a discomfort in his shoulders he can’t seem to shake, especially once he sees the look in Eddie’s eyes — there’s betrayal there over the secrets he chose to reveal, yet love all the same, but he braces for the inevitable tipping of the scale. 

Eddie shrugs out of his jacket, loosens his tie and shirt, less the detective than he is a boyfriend who never deserved any of his lies. He grants Eddie the courtesy of his silence, sits down on the couch again, and waits patiently for Eddie to sit down on the opposite end, their bodies miles apart. 

The silence cuts through their new home like a razor-blade, the warmth of the living room in deep contrast with the bitter chill in their limbs. It was that warmth that had sealed his decision, his secrets a dual layer of protection he’d gotten too comfortable applying, and after nine months he finally saw what Eddie had seen for much longer: they were building a future together, a home, a place where both their lives could roam free and secrets had no place. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Eddie’s voice echoes down hollowed out walls.

“It was safer for you—” 

He almost chokes on the words. Eddie won’t hear that as strongly as he feels it; he’s a cop, this man of his, putting his life on the line is part of the job, he can take the danger, carry the secrets, and he hasn’t doubted that for a second. 

“It was selfish,” he admits, “and I was afraid of losing you.”

He swallows thickly, but doesn’t manage to pass the lump in his throat.

“I love you too much to keep anything from you.”

He stares down at his hands, his fingers locked together as his vision slowly blurs with tears, and his heart beats the rhythmless tune of fear; he hasn’t considered what will happen should Eddie decide on betrayal, should this wonderfully kind man toss him aside and cut him from his life. Because The Flash might need Eddie to withstand the weight of the world, but Barry Allen needs Eddie to pull him back from that life. 

“Thank you,” Eddie whispers. 

His head snaps sideways, Eddie’s blue eyes already trained on him, and a tear slips haphazardly down his cheek. 

“Thank you for telling me.”

He’s not sure what to say; he’d considered this ending in a fight, slamming doors and a shouting match, or a kiss and a hug and endless nights of conversations about exactly what he’s kept from Eddie. What does he do with a  _thank you_?

“I love you,” he whispers instead, tears falling left and right, and reaches out for the hand Eddie graciously extends. Their fingers lace together, and the silence returns, too many things still left unspoken.

But they’ll work it out. 

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


	2. You can't protect me

“You can’t protect me.”

“Eddie—”

“Don’t—” Eddie huffs a laugh and grabs down for his hand, “—Eddie me. I became a part of this when you told me your secret.”

“That’s not why I told you.” He shakes his head, folding his fingers around Eddie’s, trying to stave off the suffocating thought that telling Eddie his secret won’t actually keep him out of harm’s way. “I love you, and I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, but I’m still going to do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

“And as touching as that sounds,” —Eddie crowds a step closer, pulls his hand up until he can feel the beat of Eddie’s heart cradled inside his palm— “Even you can’t be everywhere at once. I’m a cop, babe.”

He nods, fear closing up his throat; there’s a whole world of difference between letting Eddie do his job and accepting he can’t be his hero every minute of every day — he struggles with it, maybe more than he should, he lies awake at night and watches his boyfriend sleep peacefully, scenarios spinning lively in front of his eyes that leave him cold to the touch the morning after. 

Eddie kisses it better, always, whispers sweet nothings until his lips curl into a smile again, but deep down he knows he needs to find a place for this. He should go to Iris and ask her how she compartmentalizes, how she doesn’t freak out every time Joe so much as gets a scratch. 

But he’s all too aware that his increased worries only lie within the tenements of his abilities. He  _can_  save Eddie, he’s strong and fast enough, so why wouldn’t he be there every time Eddie needs him? 

“There’s always going to be a bad guy. Metahuman or not.”

“I know.” 

“Hey.”

He finds Eddie’s eyes between two beats of his heart.

“I’m always going to need you.”

A smile curls hesitantly to a corner of his mouth, the sweet  _somethings_  Eddie spins for him an echo of his own feelings. His worries are bound within the confines of a relationship he wouldn’t give up for the world. “Likewise, Detective Thawne.”

Eddie falls a step forward and pushes his lips to his, and they stay like this, seconds, minutes, trading kisses that speak much louder than words ever could.

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


	3. You can't protect me (Barry)

“Are you sure we have time for this?” he hushes to Eddie’s lips, a gasp caught at the back of his throat as Eddie surreptitiously slides a hand into his pants, the skin-to-skin caress waking something dark and heavy at the base of his spine. He curls fingers into Eddie’s hair, plucks open-mouthed kisses right off Eddie’s skin, the day’s worries drowning in the heady scent of his boyfriend’s body. 

“We’re making time,” Eddie answers tenaciously, peeling his shirt off him with practiced ease, their clothes a haphazard pile on the floor. Eddie pushes at his chest, his tumble onto the bed knocking the breath right out of him. He’s ready to forget all about this case, all about the perfectly human man chasing Joe, if only for the next hour, especially if it means having Eddie squirm between his thighs, supply a heavy pressure as he slowly but surely pushes into him and their bodies steadily intertwine.

Eddie’s phone nearly ruins the mood.

He leans up on his elbows as his boyfriend checks his phone, the pinpoint precise panic he’d felt all day needling at the base of his skull again. “What is it? Did they find Chandler?”

“It’s just an alert.” Eddie gestures dismissively and replaces his phone on the nightstand, inching closer to the bed until he can finally, thankfully, settle between his legs. “Don’t worry,” Eddie whispers, and captures his lips in another kiss, a heedless clash of teeth and tongues. The weight of Eddie nearly blankets any and all reservations he has about sneaking away from the office while there’s a homicidal maniac still out there.

He wants nothing more than to forget, become a little less the hero speedster or Joe’s foster son and a little more a man at the mercy of another, a man in love with another. Eddie grabs one of his hands and pins it down over his head, his hips stilled but mouth working diligent bites into his jawline, their mouths slowed down, and for a moment, just a moment he’s nothing more than a boyfriend about to—

—a loud click sounds, his left hand being fastened to the headboard. 

“Wh—” he mutters as Eddie pulls back without warning and scoots off the bed, well out of his reach. He tugs at the steel cuffs secure around his wrist, old issue by the looks of them, and for a second or two a flash of heat travels through his body. If this is Eddie’s way of trying something new he could’ve given him a little heads up.

Until Eddie reaches down for his pants. “What are you doing?”

Eddie stares down at him. “Making sure you stay put.”

He scoffs, but notices his phone has been moved well out of his reach, and Eddie seems pretty intent on getting dressed. “Quit screwing around,” he says, adding a disconcerted “Eddie,” when he doesn’t get a response. He knows he hasn’t been playing by the book, but he hasn’t since his accident; not that Eddie’s aware he’s the man in the red suit speeding through the Central City.

“You’re not chasing after Chandler again,” Eddie says, zipping up his pants, the action so definitive he doubts he’ll be getting out of these cuffs any time soon. “You’re a CSI, not a cop.”

“You can’t protect me, Eddie.” He means to sit up but he’s tugged backwards by the cuffs, his body at an odd angle —  it’s only a matter of vibrating straight out of the cuffs, but he’d prefer if his boyfriend set him free right now and they could head out together. “Uncuff me.”

Eddie pockets his phone. “I will be back once we have him.”

“Eddie—” He blinks, watching his boyfriend backtrack towards the bedroom door. Is this really happening? Is his own boyfriend telling him to stay put in the most unsubtle way he could think of? Eddie disappears from the room.

“Eddie!” he calls, but the front door closes and locks behind him.

He blinks a few times, stares at his wrist secured to the headboard, at his clothes on the floor. What the hell just happened?

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


	4. drunk Eddie

"So, was that your boyfriend up there?" the cute brunette asks, a hand under her chin, smiling softly at him as if the answer to her question might make or break her night. 

"Uh." He considers it briefly, but yes, of course Eddie is his boyfriend, he’s just never said it out loud. Not to himself, not to a total stranger, not to anyone. But since they’re on the other side of town where he’s unlikely to bump into anyone they know, he feels safe breathing, "Yeah," and adding, "Unfortunately."

"Don’t be." Linda smiles. "He’s cute, he gets away with it."

He laughs. That’s his Eddie to a tee; detective pretty boy, gorgeous smile, beautiful eyes, perfectly sculpted arms, cute as a button when sleepy, drugged, and apparently, drunk. “Please, don’t tell him that.”

Linda raises a curious eyebrow. “Gets away with too much already, huh?”

"Like you wouldn’t believe," he quips, even though he does allow Eddie to get away with a lot of things.

As if on cue Eddie returns from the restroom, calling, “Barry, Bar,” as he halts behind him, throwing his arms around his neck. “Teddy bear.” Eddie giggles. ”I think I had too much to drink.”

He pats at Eddie’s arm, throws Linda a playful eye roll, at which the brunette cutely wrinkles her nose. “Let’s get you home then.”

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


	5. proposal fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of spoilers for the last episode? But not really?
> 
>  
> 
> [Eddie's ring](http://www.doamore.com/rings/fingerprint-wedding-band/fingerprint-wedding-band-mens/)

Adrenaline thrums through his body as he rushes down the stairs, missing a step near the bottom despite his long legs that nearly plants him face down on the floor. Luckily he grabs onto the railing, only propelling half of him forward while the other half clumsily catches up. But he has to get to Captain Singh’s office or an officer who knows what’s going on; this was meant to be a simple arrest but now he hears there’s been a shoot-out with Eddie caught in the middle, and—

“Barry.”

 _Oh thank God_.

His sneakers bring him to a screeching halt right outside the bullpen doors, and he whirls around, his vision blurring into a haze before he watches Eddie walk out of the elevators.

“Eddie!” he calls, crossing the distance in a few big strides. “I heard what happened. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Barry,” –Eddie smiles contently– “Look...”

“You’re not fine.” His eyes go wide, taking in the haggard state of Eddie’s shirt, his hair tousled, dirt on his cheek, while somewhere in his peripheral vision he becomes aware of Iris giving Joe the same talk. “You got shot.”

Eddie shakes his head, licks his lips. “I took two in the vest, I want to–”

“You could have internal–”

“Paramedics cleared me.” Eddie grabs gently around his shoulders. “Look, Barry, I’ve been thinking.”

His eyes track down Eddie’s body, searching for signs of where the bullets might have hit, if there’s any sign that Eddie might be in pain or hiding it, if they should both be more worried than they’re allowing themselves to be. Eddie’s a cop, a detective, and after three years as a forensics scientist he knows cops get shot at, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Eddie could’ve been hurt, he could’ve been seriously injured, or worse, he _could have died_. Is Eddie not the least bit worried what he put him through?

“Barry,” Eddie calls softly, letting his hands slide down the length of his arm. For a moment or two Eddie’s right hand lingers along his left hand, but they soon separate again. It’s times like these he can’t fathom why they decided never to show that they’re a couple at the precinct. He’s sure it made sense at the time; Eddie was new, everyone thinks of him as Joe’s favorite – their colleagues knowing they were dating would’ve been messy. It still would.

It isn’t until he meets Eddie’s eyes again that it truly hits him. He could’ve lost Eddie today. Eddie could have died. The thought alone makes his head spin and nausea stir at the pit of his stomach; what’s the point of hiding you’re in love with someone? What’s the point when that person could be gone from one moment to the next? It’s been almost a year, a crazy angry wonderful year.

“I’ve been thinking,” Eddie voice pulls him back to a space where they’re decidedly not touching, and more than ever he wishes he could wrap his arms around Eddie. Everyone knows they’re together, they’re living together, would it really be that unprofessional? “And it’s not just because I just got shot at–”

“ _Shot_ ,” he corrects, busying his hands by sliding them into his pockets before he does something stupid like hold Eddie’s hand. “You didn’t get shot _at_. You got shot.”

Eddie tracks a step closer, right into the private space they agreed not to invade, not at work, not with everyone watching. “Stop talking,” Eddie breathes with a smile, his big blue eyes shining with mirth, while he reaches inside his jacket for something. What comes out is a small blue box, the hinge creaking as it opens– revealing a simple sterling silver ring, with a fingerprint engraved on the outside.

And he thinks there’s absolutely no way Eddie found that ring in the time between the shooting and coming back to the precinct.

“Wh–”

Air rushes from his lungs, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as he takes in the thoughtfully pieced together gesture. Here he’s worrying about what people will think should they see him and Eddie showing affection for each other and this huge romantic of a man just pops out an engagement ring for everyone to see.

“Are you–”

He swallows hard, trying to wrap his brain around what Eddie must be thinking; he must’ve had this ring already, but whatever happened out there prompted him to go for it and ask. And what– what possible reason could he have to say no?

“Did you–”

His eyes go wide, mouth non-compliant as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. “–asking me?”

“Yes, Barry Allen.” Eddie smiles brightly. “I am asking you if you’ll marry me.”

Someone gasps behind him, a gasp he faintly recognizes as Iris’, but his heart beats too loud to fully register it. Instead he drowns in Eddie’s eyes, in the thought of a lifetime with this brave idiot, this man he somehow fell head over heels in love with after only two dates.

Are they even ready for this?

“Yeah,” he blurts out nonetheless, trying to clear his throat. “I mean, yes.” He nods, overcome with joy and before he knows it he’s smiling ear to ear. “I will. I’ll marry you.”

Eddie inches across the distance still left between them and pushes his lips to his, making his heart stutter in an enjoyable panic. He closes his eyes and lets go, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and basking in simply being with his boyfriend.

Or rather, his freshly minted fiancé.

 

 

 

**\- fin -**


	6. college au

“Did you see him?” Caitlin slides into the seat next to him, plunking two heavy volumes down on the small wooden table. “Mr Dashing and Oh-So-Sexy?”

“Don’t–” –his eyes crisscross the room quickly to check  _Mr Dashing_  is nowhere near them. Just because he nicknamed the guy in some drunken stupor a few days ago doesn’t mean it needed to leave their circle of friends– “–call him that.”

“He’s not here yet?”

“Haven’t seen him,” he answers absentmindedly, his heart jumping a little whenever someone new enters the classroom, his hope rising, then falling when it doesn’t turn out to be the hot blond who’d bumped into him at the bar – they’d exchanged apologies and pleasantries, and for some reason their class schedules as well. If he actually understood correctly, Mr Dashing should be in today.

“Maybe he’s hungover.” Caitlin quirks a curious eyebrow. “It’s pretty early.”

But just as he’s about to forsake all hope, Mr Tall Blond and Handsome saunters into the auditorium, bag slung over one shoulder, coffee cup in one hand, offering a smile the moment their eyes catch. His heart stutters slightly, the rush of a few days ago returning, and he straightens in his seat; school had barely started, but he’d already met a hot guy who seemed interested in him, and it made his blood run hotter.

He’s not desperate, he’s perfectly fine being single, but if someone else sought to change that, who was he to complain?

“Morning, class,” Mr Oh-So-Sexy’s voice rises until it hits every corner of the auditorium. “I’m Professor Thawne, and this is Bio 101.”

His jaw drops right alongside Caitlin’s. 

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


	7. partners in crime

“That was crazy fun,” Barry breathes, his long legs on either side of his hips, his lips tracing a long line down his neck, sucking a hickey over his collar bone his tongue soon laps at to soothe the sting; his hard-on presses into his thigh but Barry takes his sweet time stringing kisses into his skin, his hands everywhere at once, body hot and heavy on top of him. 

Beneath him the green bills spread over the bed crease and crackle, paper cuts to his back, but the display sends waves of adrenaline down his spine, the rush of their first ever heist a slow-release drug steadily spiraling through his body. It’s a miracle they got away clean; he can only freeze time for sixty seconds, which didn’t include the camera feeds, and Barry was only as fast as these newfound superpowers allowed. The safe had been the trickiest part.

Barry raises himself on all fours, crashing their mouths together until he tastes copper. “Can we do it again?” he mutters, bringing their bodies closer, slowly rubbing them together. 

He gasps and closes his eyes, opening his legs to accommodate Barry, hand gripping down for his ass. 

“Baby,” Barry muses, nuzzling at his neck all sweet and needy. “Can we?” he asks, stilling his hips. Frustration rolls through him and he digs fingers into his boyfriend’s ass.

“We already have more than we can spend.”

Barry casts a surreptitious look down at him, grabbing a hundred dollar bill. “What about the island you promised me, baby?” Barry asks, folding half of the bill inside his boxers. His dick twitches at the coy leer in the curl of Barry’s lashes. “What about the cars? And the house?”

Another hundred dollar bill gets tugged along the waistband of his boxers and any man might feel cheap, reduced to a body or a means to an end, but Barry’s never made him feel that way. Barry’s lips trace down his chest again, teeth at his hipbone before his lips tease at his tip. “What do you say, baby?”

And he breathes, “Yes. Yes”, his resolve a shadow of an idea in the wake of his love for this boy. He did promise him the world, after all.

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


	8. Please, don't leave

They’re shoulder to shoulder outside the hospital, Eddie still as a statue while he shifts from one foot to the other, left, then right, left again, hands folded around the back of his neck, pumping against his chest, in his pockets. He can’t seem to settle.

“He’ll be okay,” –he huffs a laugh that falters around a memory too painful to touch– “Right?”

“Of course.” Eddie catches his eyes for a second, two, before he too falters and stares blankly ahead; he’s gone in and gotten three cups of coffee that have each of them ran cold, discarded in a nearby trashcan. “Of course,” Eddie adds absentminded, like he’s yet to convince himself. 

He bears down on both his feet, stands on tiptoe before sagging back down. There has to be something he can do; he can’t just wait for a positive or negative outcome, he can’t just have all these abilities and lack the power to save– but he couldn’t save his mom,  _hadn’t_ , no matter how much he regrets it now. What if Joe doesn’t make it?

A fingers curls around his pinkie, then two around his ring finger, Eddie stringing their hands together as if the sheer force of them holding hands could hold them both up, as if all Eddie really wants to say,  _Please, don’t leave_.

Eddie can’t lose another partner, he can’t lose another parent, and they can’t lose each other in their very separate ways of dealing. Eddie’s quiet, he’s ready to run, but where’s there to run when everything worth living for is right here, up in the OR, down the hallway holding herself together, right here holding his hand.

He falls forward into Eddie’s chest, his panic made flesh where his fingers curl around Eddie’s tighter, and he closes his eyes. If he keeps holding on, if he keeps those he loves the most close, all will be okay.

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


	9. I've seen the way you look at me

“Hello, detective.”

The words race down his spine and settle somewhere primal, an almost Pavlovian response to the other man’s voice, cultivated over the many months they’ve been meeting. This relationship with The Flash is as much a professional one as it’s started becoming a personal one—as far as he’s aware he’s the only cop who talks to him on a regular basis. (There’s that reporter for the Central City Picture News he seems to be close to, but for information The Flash comes to him.)—and he started looking forward to their engaged albeit short conversations. He’s found a kinship in The Flash he shares with few others; they’re both passionate about what they do.

Despite his transfer over a year ago he’s made few friends in Central City outside one of the CSIs, Barry Allen, a handful of colleagues, and the doctor at S.T.A.R labs, but he has little to show for all his effort. Few people not orbiting his world would understand why he does what he does.

“Something the matter?”

“No.” He shakes off the thoughts as if they’d never occurred, but he knows his tiredness shows–three days they’ve been at this, three days without sleep, hardly any food, and neither of them are any closer to catching this metahuman, as his friend like to refer to them. He’d mentioned the word to Barry in passing, but he’d found it an adequate term for the kinds of people they were chasing.

“Are you one of them?” He asks offhandedly, too tired to edit. “A metahuman?”

“I am,” The Flash answers. “But I use my abilities to do good.”

He wonders, sometimes (quite often), who hides behind the mask–he can’t be that old given his physique, and he guesses he hides his voice for a reason. He always figured it’s one he’d recognize should it go undisguised. Which only raises more questions; given how few people are in his life, who’d feel the need to hide?

“You need sleep, detective.”

He huffs a laugh, rubs at his forehead. “I need results. A lead.” He bites at his lip, chances a glance at the man dressed in red. “This would be a lot easier if I had some way to contact you. Don’t you have a phone?”

It’s unclear whether the man facing him smiles or not, but he thinks he detects the hint of it in the blurs of his face. “Suit doesn’t come with a phone.”

“Don’t you trust me?” he asks, failing to see the humor in the situation. He’s exhausted, he’s hungry, and there’s a murderer on the loose. How many more bodies can he take before he breaks?

The Flash turns his back on him. “I do trust you, detective.”

“But not enough to tell me who you are.” He sighs, hands at his hips. He’s given The Flash a lot of his time, surrendered his own trust blindly once he became convinced he meant no harm, but at some point this has to go both ways. 

“It–” The Flash hesitates for the first time, and it’s such an odd occurrence he can’t for a moment remember why he needed to know so badly. “It might complicate things.”

“You’re a masked vigilante who runs faster than the speed of sound,” he says. “How much more complicated can it get?”

A short silence follows, The Flash balling his hands into fists, leather shrieking. Does this mean he does know? Does he know the man behind the mask? Has he talked to him not realizing his true identity?

“Because I’ve seen the way you look at me,” The Flash says. “When you think I don’t notice.”

He frowns, heart rate picking up, because– well, he– there’s no one–

“Barry?” the name falls from his lips like it’d been there all along, like he’d known all this time. Barry, and The Flash, one and the same person?

“Like I said,” Barry’s voice follows, and as The Flash peels back his mask Barry’s auburn hair comes into view, the freckles on his cheek, his green eyes as he turns—maybe he has been looking a little too closely all this time. “It’s complicated.”

 

 

**\- fin -**

 

 


	10. Greaser au

His breath hitches at the sight of him. It does that. It’s  _been doing that_  since the day they met. The white tank smeared with engine grease, the slightly baggy jeans, the red bandana sticking out of one of the back pockets, body hunched underneath the heavy steel hood of a ‘72 Ford Mustang. 

“Here to see Eddie?” he throws at one of the garage hands, just loud enough for Eddie to hear, inconspicuous enough to make everyone think he believes Eddie could be any one of them, any of the bodies in the shop, not the one his eyes seek out every few seconds or so. 

Eddie glances over his shoulder, suppresses a smile, while his feet carry him closer— “Hey, Barry.” Eddie conjures up a filthy rag, a whip of it against the stale air, and wipes his hands clean, though the dirt that’s dug underneath his nails, in the pores of his hands, won’t come out for years. “Bike’s in the back, follow me.”

Grease ladens the air, along with gasoline and fresh dirt, kicked up by his sneakers. It’s not a scent he enjoys but for the remnants of it on Eddie’s skin, strong shoulders outlined by the cut of his tank, smooth and gentle lines at odds with the grain of this place.

Two strong hands push him back into a crooked row of lockers, the strong line of a body fitted to his, lips soon claiming his mouth—his lips part and he almost prepares for the taste of motor oil, but Eddie’s never quite so predictable, never quite what he expects him to be, his tongue a thick heat he craves in its entirety. 

“What are you doing here, Allen?” Eddie growls, pins his hands to the slants in the lockers so they dig into his skin, skimming a thigh between his legs. He chases after lips smeared intimately on every inch of his body, now teeth wrenching behind his ear. “Boss doesn’t like unexpected guests.”

His hips buck gratefully into Eddie’s body, the itch for him growing. “I’m a paying customer.”

Dark eyes find his, pupils blown, grease stain over one of the eyebrows—“There’s nothing wrong with your bike,” –Eddie’s tone accuses yet teases, knows him so well even though it’s been a mere two weeks since he first walked into the garage–eyes trace down to his lips while fingers lace with his, a chest heaving against his.

“I’m not the expert.” He licks his lips unconsciously, which earns him another kiss, this time followed by two strong arms wrapping around his torso, enough strength in those limbs to lift him up and circle his legs around Eddie’s waist, but Eddie throws him down on the first flat surface available. 

“We can’t do this here.” Eddie’s voice deepens, yet reaches for his belt all the same, a slick hand slipping down into his jeans—he watches for exactly as long as he can take before undoing his own, eyes a mad scramble for whatever it is Eddie can give him—later tonight they can strip down to their skeletons for all he cares, right now this is all he can have, and the risk of it spins him out of control. 

It’s messy and volatile, each a hand down their boxers, hands batting along the erratic beat of their heart, the blood in their veins thickening, slick slide of skin-to-skin and a whimper, a groan, a name, two names hushed between them. Eddie folds in half over him, body stuttering a few times and he thrashes underneath him a few moments later, his legs tightening around Eddie’s waist. 

Sweat has knitted into the grease above Eddie’s brow, transferring to his as their mouths move greedily around another kiss. They clean up using some paper towels in Eddie’s locker, but he’ll be sure to take a shower once he’s home, to get out all the grit and stains melted into him. 

He straddles his bike, nearly as pleasant a feel as Eddie writhing between his legs—Eddie kisses him again, much softer this time, some of his own cleanliness transferred. “Never do that again,” he warns, with no real heat behind the words.

He grins. “No promises, Mr Thawne.”

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


End file.
